by Selena
King is quiet for a minute. “I’ve thought about that with my sister, too. I don’t want to, but sometimes I wonder.”
“If she killed herself?”
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “She was seeing this boy my family hated. My father was set on destroying his whole family. And we’re family, so we go along, the way you hate the Valentis because your family does. It was like that.”
I swallow hard, knowing he doesn’t talk about this to just anyone. He’s never really opened up to me before, but he’s finally letting his guard down, letting me in. I wish there wasn’t painful parts of his past, too, but I’m glad he’s sharing them now. Those are the hard parts, and when we can tell each other even the ugly things, there’s nothing left to hide.
“Your family wouldn’t let her see him?” I ask.
“We tried to stop her. I knew she’d get hurt, that if she loved him, and we hurt him, it would hurt her. I tried to make her see that, to make her stop, but it was like she couldn’t. Like she was addicted or something.”
“She was in love,” I say softly, running my fingers down King’s chest.
“Yeah,” he says. “I guess.”
“So, what happened?” I ask.
“We had this big fight with their family,” he says. “She wasn’t supposed to be there. But she insisted on coming, and even though I knew I shouldn’t, I let her come along. I…I was supposed to watch out for her.” His voice catches a little, and he looks away.
“I’m sure it wasn’t your fault,” I say softly.
“It was,” he says fiercely. “I was worthless that night, Eliza. I got myself shot, and then I couldn’t even fight when things went down. Crystal ran off, and my brother was so mad at her, he said we should leave her. I argued with him, but I didn’t stop him when he drove off and left her.”
I run my finger over his hipbone to the scar above it, soft and still slightly pink with freshness. I remember Bianca telling me how recently his sister died. “You were shot,” I say. “You weren’t in any condition to be stopping anyone from anything.”
“But I should have been,” he says. “It wasn’t my brother’s fault. He was her twin, and she chose her boyfriend over him. Over us.” He’s quiet for a minute, staring off. “I told myself she’d be fine. We’d left her with her boyfriend. We went to this stupid party, and my brothers started a fire. There was a big fight. By the time we went back for Crystal, she was gone.”
“Gone… How?”
“It was in the middle of this storm,” he says. “We looked for her, but by the time we did, it was too late. The river had come up and taken her boyfriend’s car with both of them in it.”
“Oh my god,” I say. “I’m so sorry.”
“They found the car a couple days later,” he says.
“They were… Stuck in it?” I ask, swallowing hard.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “They never found them. But they found… Evidence… in the back seat that they’d been there that night. I guess too busy fucking to notice the water rising. Part of me thinks… What if she didn’t care that it was? She never thought things through in the long term. She was impulsive and sort of fragile, too. In that moment, she had him, and she didn’t want us interfering. We’d pretty much told her we were going to kill the guy. She probably thought it was the only way not to lose him. If she couldn’t have him, they’d go out together. That’s the sort of thing she’d do. Dramatic. Romantic. Tragic.”
“That’s very Romeo and Juliet,” I say. “But did you ever think maybe she’s still alive?”
He shakes his head. “We hired private investigators and looked for her for a few months after the cops gave up, but the river goes right to the Mississippi, and we were just a little above Louisiana. I like to think she’s in the ocean somewhere. She loved the ocean when we were kids.”
We’re quiet for a minute, two. Then I hug myself around him. “It wasn’t your fault,” I say again. “And I know you don’t want to hear this, but maybe that’s the best way to go. With someone you love.”
“We could have stopped it,” he says. “I could have. I could have convinced my dad to leave him alone. To leave his family alone. I’m sure I could have.”
I shake my head. “If they’re anything like mine, then you couldn’t. Wars between families are bigger than two people.”
“But I should have tried,” he insists. “Instead of trying to keep them apart. Maybe if I’d understood what love is like…”
“I think I understand,” I whisper, my heartbeat picking up speed. “Nothing could keep me from being with you.”
He turns in bed to face me, his hand falling on my waist. “That’s why I didn’t want to fall in love with you. I didn’t want you to fall for me, either. If anything happened to me, at least your heart would be safe.”
“Too late,” I whisper, cupping his cheek and leaning in to kiss him. “I think you stole it, King Dolce.”
He smiles into our kiss. “I think you’re the thief, Eliza Dolce.”
I shiver at the way he says my new name. I was so insistent on keeping my independence, not belonging to him. But when he says my name like that, I know I already belong to him, and not because of any agreement between our families. My heart is his. He’s treated it so carefully, I know he’ll always protect me.
“I love you,” I whisper, pressing my lips to his again.
He pulls back gently, his gaze finding mine, his eyes so deep and dark they seem bottomless. “I love you, too,” he says, his voice thick with emotion.
“Make love to me,” I whisper.
He searches my eyes, then leans in and kisses me. “You’re ready?”
“I want to try,” I say. “You deserve a wife who gives you everything. I want to be that for you.”
We kiss for a long time, until my lips feel hot and swollen, and my body is tingling all over. We undress each other, and I marvel in his body the way I always do, the ridges and smooth lines of muscle, the dips and points of bone. He runs his hands over me, too, adoring me without touching me in a sexual way. Still, his touch is electrifying as well as reassuring, and pressure aches between my thighs. When he slides his hand down my belly, I tense, though.
He touches me, and I lay frozen, my heart racing in my chest. I tell myself it’s not so bad, that it feels good. It does feel good. I’m wet against his fingers. But my head is screaming for me to get the fuck out, to fly off the bed like I did the last time he touched me there.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs, his mouth on my neck, sending chills of desire through me. So why can’t I just fucking enjoy it like a normal person? I want to scream at myself, my mother, the world. It’s so fucking unfair I want to cry.
He pushes a finger into me, and I let myself breathe, force myself to. He’s saying how good it feels, and it does, it really does. He wants it, and it feels good to him, and maybe I just need to do it and get the first time over with. Only that one time will be scary and painful. I’ll get used to it after that, and it won’t be scary after a while. He deserves a wife who can satisfy him, a wife who isn’t broken. I won’t let someone evil define me, won’t let her rob me of this.
It’s my body. My choice. I can reclaim it, take back the experience, replace it with this. With a good man who loves me, and I can feel how much he wants and needs me in every part of his body, in the trembling of his restraint, in the thick, hard ridge of his cock biting into me as he pushes against me, in his rapid breaths, his heart hammering under my fingertips when I touch his chest. I remind myself to move so he knows I want it, too, that I’m not frozen, that I’m participating.
He moves on top of me, pulling back to look down at my face, his eyes searching mine with concern and desire blurring the lines between us. Reaching down, he grips his cock, rubbing the head slow and hard through my wetness. Pleasure ripples through me, and I open my legs for him.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, his cock straining against my entrance.
I can only manage one word. “This.”
“I’m going to put it in,” he whispers. “It might hurt a little at first, but I’ll be gentle. If you need to stop, let me know.”
I nod, biting my lip. He pushes harder, and I wince as he breaches my entrance with the slow, steady pressure. He begins to sink deeper, and I gasp as I feel him straining against my walls, filling me until I think I’ll rip apart.
“You ready for the rest of it?” he asks.
No, I’m not ready. But I may never be ready, and if I don’t do it now, it’ll just get bigger and scarier in my head until I can never do it. And I want to. I want to give myself to him fully, with every part of myself. So I nod my head.
King pushes against the resistance inside me, and a sharp pain stabs through me when he breaks the barrier, pushing in until I can’t hold back tears. I suck in a shaky breath, trying to blink them away before he sees. He’s all the way in, resting on his elbows with his head hanging down beside mine, his breath hot and quick against my neck.
“You feel so fucking amazing,” he whispers, kissing my neck, my ear. He doesn’t move, waiting for me to adjust, so I force myself to relax.
“Keep going,” I whisper. “I’m ready.”
He pushes in a few more times, slow and deep, and my whole body rebels, as if we’re the wrong ends of magnets being forced together, and at the last second, I just can’t. The pain is still there, and oh god, the sensation fills me with paralyzing terror and dread, and tears begin to pour from my eyes.
“Eliza,” King says, sounding alarmed. He stops moving, using his hands to smooth back my hair. “You didn’t tell me to stop.”
“It’s fine,” I say, gripping his shoulders, wrapping my legs around him. “Just finish.”
“You’re crying.”
He says the words gently as he rolls away, as if that’s all the reason anyone needs to stop, as if what my body is showing is more important than what my mouth is saying. His strong, long arms wrap around me, and he holds me against him, and I can feel the hard, wet ridge of his cock pressing into my belly, and it makes me cry harder because I can’t satisfy it. I want to scream and scream and scream until I can’t breathe and can’t speak and can’t feel anything. He stopped and I’m so angry at myself because I’m just. So. Broken.
But he just holds me and doesn’t say anything. Not about how hard it must have been to stop, or how once again he wasn’t satisfied, or that his wife failed him yet again. He strokes my hair and kisses my forehead while shame and fury pour from my eyes. I know I’m safe. That’s the worst part. I know I am, but my body still reacts like I’m not, and I don’t know how to fix that.
At last, my tears run dry, but I can’t look up at King. This feels like the worst failure yet, confirmation of my worst fears—that I can’t have sex.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper at last.
King takes my tearstained face in his hands, raising it to his. He kisses my salty cheeks, my puffy eyes, my red nose. “No, I’m sorry,” he says. “I should have known.”
“What are we going to do?” I ask, clinging to him with all the desperation I feel. I’ve never told anyone the things I’ve told him, my deepest darkest secrets. Now I feel like those secrets are pushing us apart, that they’ll continue to grow between us until there’s no way back to each other. Maybe telling him was a huge mistake, and I never should have opened up to him. I know one thing for sure. If he leaves me, I’ll never tell another soul, never let them destroy another relationship.
“I don’t know,” King admits. “But we’ll get through it. I promise.”
I nod, another tear slipping from my lashes. I want to ask how he can promise that, how he can know. How we can get through it. But it’s my burden to bear.
“Maybe you can talk to someone,” he says. “A therapist or someone who specializes in this type of thing.”
“I can’t see a therapist,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m bound by the code of silence just as much as you are.”
“You don’t have to tell her about the mafia stuff,” he says. “My mom’s been seeing one for years, and she’s Al Valenti’s niece. She doesn’t talk about certain things, but for personal problems… It’s New York, Eliza. Even therapists have therapists.”
I try to smile at his attempt at lightheartedness, but when I think about telling a stranger the things I’ve told King, my heart nearly stops.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, but I already know I won’t. A niece is far removed from the don of a mafia family. I’m a don’s daughter. I’d be terrified of someone thinking I’d rat him out, not to mention I’m now tied to the Valenti family, and they’d be the first to blame me if something got leaked. After all, they already blamed my family when the Lucianis attacked.
“Speaking of talking,” I say, toying with the dark hair at the nape of King’s neck. “I don’t want any secrets between us. I know you think you’re protecting me by not talking about work, but I want to know. I can help, remember?”
“Yeah,” he says. “But not with this.”
“What is it?” I ask, searching his eyes. “You can trust me, King. I’m not just sworn to silence. I’m sworn to you. I can tell something’s been on your mind since you confronted the Lucianis. Tell me.”
He sighs and rolls onto his back. “I killed him,” he says. “Yeah, we were all there, and no one knows it was me except our fixer, but… I’m the one who pulled the trigger. He’s not just anyone, Eliza. He was their boss. What if someone finds out it was me and comes after you?”
I shake my head. “The bastard who took his place is probably blessing you in his prayers every night. These guys are ruthless. They’re just happy they got a promotion.”
“I didn’t even think about it,” King says. “I just did it. It was like it was nothing. Il Diavolo had Bianca, and I wanted to get her away from him, and her father was just something in the way, like a door you push through to get somewhere. It’s like I forgot he was a person.”
I shiver. “You were with Il Diavolo?”
“You know him?” King asks, drawing back to look down at me.
“I know of him,” I say. “He’s gotten a few of our men to talk before, and they paid.”
He frowns and looks back at the ceiling. “Have you heard from Bianca?”
I snort. “She almost got you killed. I think our friendship is officially over.”
King is quiet for a minute.
“What?” I ask, leaning up on one elbow. “She didn’t?”
“No,” he says.
“Then who?” I ask.
“I don’t think I should talk about this.”
“Come on,” I say, laying a hand on his chest. “I’m as much a part of the mafia as you are. I’ve told you everything, King. No secrets. Please?”
He sighs. “It was Little Al. My partner.”
“Shit,” I say, sinking back onto the pillows. “I’m sorry.”
“Which means I’m under the microscope to prove my loyalty,” he says. “And to make matters worse, the son of a bitch took off, and we haven’t found him.”
“You will,” I assure him. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that the mafia doesn’t let go of a grudge. They don’t let traitors hide forever any more than they let snitches disappear. Even Wit-Sec can’t hide most snitches, and nothing can hide a man who ratted out his own family for personal gain. Eventually, they’re found and punished.
“I’m supposed to kill him,” King admits. “What if I can’t do it, El?”
He turns to look at me, his dark eyes brimming with doubts and fears that have kept him up these past nights. I feel like I’ve been given a sacred gift in his sharing them with me.
“You can,” I say. “When the time comes, you’ll make the right choice.”
“But is that the right choice?” he asks, rolling toward me again, tucking his arm under his head. “What if we’re made up of all our choices, and every time, we tell ourselves it’s right, but really, we j
ust didn’t want to make the impossible choice. And one day, we look at ourselves, and we see all those choices add up to make us a bad person?”
“You’re not a bad person,” I say firmly. “If it’s not the right thing, then you won’t do it. You’ll do something else. You said it yourself, that when it came to pull the trigger on Luciani, you didn’t think twice. You did what you needed to do.”
“I didn’t know him,” King says. “He wasn’t my partner.”
“Little Al may have been your partner in name, but if he was really a partner, he wouldn’t have tried to have you killed,” I say, anger rising inside me on his behalf. “If you can’t do it, I will. That asshole almost left me a widow at eighteen.”
Instead of smiling, King’s frown deepens. “I think about that every day,” he admits.
“Well, stop,” I say, throwing a leg over him and cuddling closer. “You’ll find him, and you’ll make sure he never gets a chance to leave me a widow. I know you’ll do it. You have everything it takes to fight and win.”
“And what’s that?” he asks, adjusting his arm to pillow my head before smiling down at me.
“You’re a good man, and you have loyalty to your family and a reason to make it home at night.”
“I think I’m starting to get it,” he says, squeezing me closer. “I thought love was the enemy, but it’s just what you make of it.”
“Sure, love is dangerous,” I agree, turning my head to kiss his shoulder. “But isn’t that what makes it worth it?”
“It must be,” King says. “Because I’d risk anything for you, Eliza. Whatever I have to do to keep you, to make you happy, to be your man, that’s what I’m doing to do. And it’s so fucking worth it.”
“I know you miss her, but maybe that’s what your sister wanted, too,” I say. “To die for love. Maybe that was worth it for her.”
“I wish I could have saved her,” he says quietly, pressing his lips to my forehead.